


Fallen

by AwesomeMango7



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Child Abuse, Dungeon, Fluff, Healing, I can’t put very many tags without spoiling, Jerry is pathetic as usual, Past Character Death, Puzzles, Sad, The Rick in this one is sweet, There’s also another Rick who’s horrible, There’s surprisingly a lot more fluff than I intended, Traps, it’s cool, replacement, severed limbs, so it’s ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 18:10:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16645259
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwesomeMango7/pseuds/AwesomeMango7
Summary: Morty never revealed much about his past to Rick. All the man knew was that Morty’s original Rick hadn’t been so great.One day, however, Rick sees the two uneven scars along his back, and after an internal debate, he decides to tell him what happened.(I still suck at summaries. I’m sorry. I promise the story is so much better.)





	Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> Omg this took me forever to write. I hope you guys enjoy it!

 

 

 

_“Please! **Please!** Stop it! It hurts, **it hurts,** please!” Morty sobbed, gasping desperately for breath as he struggled to crawl away. His fingers were growing bloody, and small scratch marks were forming on the concrete floor inside the underground bunker._

_Distantly, Morty wondered how it was even possible that he could scratch it up so bad with his flimsy nails, which had been bent backwards and ripped apart. He couldn’t stop himself, though. He’d probably still desperately claw at the floor like this even if he’d somehow managed to rip his own fingers off. Everything hurt. He just wanted to get away, or even better... die._

_“F-fuck -bBURRrp- keep **still,** Morty.” Rick chastised from behind him. He was sitting on the back of his legs, effectively pinning Morty down. The old man was drunk beyond belief, and even **now,** there was a half-full bottle on the floor just a few feet away that he would sip from occasionally as he worked. “Jesus, do you want the scars to be uneven?” As he said it, Morty felt another sharp pain spread through his back, and he let out an ear-piecing scream, struggling and squirming as he tried valiantly to free himself._

_“PLEASE! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS, R-RICK?! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?! I can’t take it, I can’t take it, please—please—please—please, just **stop—** “ He wheezed in a desperate breath of air. He wished Rick had decided to do anything else besides this, he even wished he’d **kill** him instead of do this. He’d already sawed one of them off— he could see it out of the corner of his eye. It was stained with red, and bent in angles it shouldn’t be. Rick was working on the other one now._

_The pain was unbearable, but the emotional pain was worse. It wasn’t even the fact that Rick, his own grandpa, was the one doing this. The man had never been good to him— if he was ever a good man, that part of him a died long before Morty was even a thought. It was the fact that he was depriving him of something he cherished with every fiber of his being. Something he loved more than he loved himself. He’d rather **die** than lose it._

_But here was Rick, pinning him down on the cold concrete floors, repeatedly stabbing a knife into his back, stripping him of who he was. Who even was he, without them? He’s already lost one of them, so he knows he’s already lost everything. One can’t function without the other’s aid._

_He wanted Rick to kill him. He wanted it so bad. He wanted to just curl up in a ball and bleed to death on the floor. He didn’t want to live like this. He **couldn’t** live like this. It was a fate worse than death._

_“It **hurts** so much, Rick, I-I-I-I can’t— **please—** “ He sobbed, tears and snot trailing heavily down his face. It hurt so much._

_Another sharp pain pierced through his back, and Rick started dragging the knife back and forth, sawing it off straight through the bone. Morty screamed, begging out unintelligible pleas. He didn’t understand why Rick was doing this. It hurt so much. He just wanted it to be over. **Please,** let it be over soon. **Please.** He just wanted to die already._

_“ **Why?!** I d-don’t understand—I don’t know what—what I— what I did, but I’m **sorry,** please, please stop, grandpa, please, I-I’ll do anything. P-please, just let me die.” Morty cried as Rick continued to saw away. What had he done to make Rick do this? He didn’t understand. “Why— **why—** “ He was screaming and crying so much that his throat was raw and he could hardly breathe._

_He felt as if his lungs were on the verge of collapsing, and his heart felt as if soon it would give out. Oh, how he longed for it to give out— he didn’t know how much longer he could take this. He wanted to die already— he wanted everything to just stop. He’d never wanted something so much before in his life, and it was ironically death itself that he wanted more than anything._

_Rick suddenly stopped what he was doing, and leaned down towards Morty’s ear. He yanked harshly on his hair to pull the boy closer, and he cried out in pain. The teen’s cries quieted down into soft whimpers of pain as Rick’s breath dusted over the side of his face._

_“I’m doing this so you can **never** leave me, you moronic piece of shit.” Rick growled into his ear, and Morty’s breath caught in his throat, his eyes widening. “You hear that, Morty? I f-fucking **own** you.”_

**_“You’re mine until the day you fuckin’ die.”_ **

 

 

****

* * *

**_  
_ **

 

Morty gasped, eyes flying open in a panic. He sat up quickly, eyes scanning his surroundings. He knew he was in his room, but everything was just a blur. What the—? He rose a hand up to his face, more panic surging through him, when he felt something wet.

 

Oh.

 

He was just crying.

 

He was _just_ crying, and he’d _just_ woken up. His dream wasn’t happening currently. _All of it was over. He didn’t have to worry anymore, right?_

Morty sniffled, frustratedly wiping away his tears with the back of his hands. He shouldn’t get so worked up over this. It was was just a nightmare. Well, more of a memory than a nightmare, but still a nightmare, nonetheless.

Blinking away the last few tears, Morty looked around his room again now that he could see more clearly. His eyes focused in on his digital alarm clock. It was 8:30AM, right around the time he woke up every morning on the weekend. Beth should be making breakfast right about now. He wiped at his eyes some more before getting up from his bed, legs still a little shaky from the nightmare.

He didn’t have to worry about the Rick from his dream. He was long dead, and he had a new Rick. A better Rick. He was still an asshole sometimes, but... he knew his current Rick would never hurt him like _he_ had.

He kept wiping at his eyes as he made his way to his closet, knowing that they were still red and puffy from crying. It wasn’t the first time he’d had that dream, and every time he woke up from it, he woke up with tears streaming down his face. How was he even supposed to stop the tears, when they start falling while he’s asleep?

Those memory-dreams always felt too real. And maybe they’re technically real, but it’s over now. He’s safe, and he shouldn’t be crying over it.

 

It’s over.

 

He grabbed a pair of jeans and a fresh yellow t-shirt, and quickly changed into them.

He took in a deep breath. Just a dream. It was just a dream. He was safe. That Rick was dead, and he had a new, kinder Rick, that would never do something like that to him. He had to repeatedly remind that to himself sometimes after these dreams, especially when he had _that_ one.

He’s had many dreams about his old Rick, all of them a memory of something horrible that he’d done to him. But for obvious reasons, _that_ one (and the one where Rick killed everyone he loved) were the worst ones.

He stepped out of his room and slowly made his way downstairs, where the smell of bacon was wafting from the kitchen. His stomach grumbled hungrily, despite the memories from his dream still hanging over his shoulder like a dark cloud.

When he walked into the dining room, he found Summer and Jerry already sitting at the table, both occupied by their electronics. The TV was on in the living room, and Morty could see that Rick was watching it on the couch. He sat down in his usual spot at the table, attention focused on the TV. Rick was watching reruns of Ballfondlers. It was a good distraction from his dream.

His original Rick had hated this show, and it had been a great and very welcomed contrast when Morty found out that his new Rick loved the show as much as he did. It served as one of the many reminders and reassurances that his original Rick was gone, and Morty was safe.

Rick had been pretty excited to discover Morty’s love for the show, too, having caught the teen watching it at 2 in the morning because he couldn’t sleep. So much so that he’d brought him to the movies to watch a new Ballfondlers movie exactly one week after they’d been assigned to each other.

Morty had still been terrified of him during that time, fearful that he’d be like anything his original Rick, and had sat an extra two seats away from the old man, but he cherished the memory regardless. Rick had understood his hesitation, even while being a little insensitive and mean about it at the time.

Being assigned to a new Rick had been a very rough start for Morty. He hadn’t even known the citadel existed, let alone other versions of both himself and Rick, until his original Rick had died.

He had a panic attack within the first five minutes of being forcefully taken there by another Rick. I mean, how could he not panic? The only Rick he’d known at the time had been the one who’d hurt him, and suddenly he was surrounded by thousands of the same person?

It had been right after Rick had died, too, so he thought he had become a ghost or something and was haunting him. With all the shit he’d been through and all the shit he’d seen, he wouldn’t be all that surprised if ghosts had actually been real.

That had been the lowest point in his entire life, because he’d felt so hopeless. He felt like he’d never be able to escape Rick, and that the nightmare he called his life would never end. And he had no one left. Everyone he knew was dead.

 

Mom, dad, Summer, all of them.

 

Dead.

 

And he still grieved over them to this very day.

 

He stayed in the citadel a little over two months, where he’d been forced to take a few classes about how to be a “good Morty,” and a couple others that taught how dimensions and different realities worked, and that there were infinite possibilities and infinite realities. All that blah blah blah. It was all just bullshit to Morty anyway, but he paid just enough attention and put fourth just enough effort to pass, just so he could get out of there. He had hated to learn that the only way out of that retched place was through a Rick, but he had to get out of there.

He’d also learned a few things about his original Rick by looking up his file in the central citadel library. Apparently you had special access to a Rick’s file if you were from the same dimension of said Rick and they were deceased. Another Morty, who had what appeared to be cat ears and a tail, had helped him out with that one.

He found out that he was Morty from dimensions A6-B4, and that his Rick was on the fucked up side of spectrum that made up the finite curve.

Rick’s from that section were considered so fucked up and horrible that they were banned from ever even entering the citadel, and their only right was ownership over the Morty their dimension naturally birthed.

No wonder his Rick had been so dead-set on keeping him. In the time that he’d known him, not once, had he ever allowed him to die. Not even in moments that Morty’d actually wanted to.

Fuck, he’d even told him he wasn’t allowed to die, and that they’d be together forever, wether Morty liked it or not. He’d always wondered why Rick cared so much about his survival. He’d known it wasn’t because Rick actually cared about him, so... he just thought Rick didn’t want him to die because he wanted him to forever be his slave, or whatever.

It would have been a nice sentiment to know that his original Rick wanted to stick with him forever, if not for the fact that he went to horrible lengths to ensure it, such as killing his family and etc. (thank god Morty found a way out of “forever”).

On the other hand, though, they made an exception for their Morty to join the citadel if their Rick became deceased, which was pretty much exactly Morty’s situation. Well, except for the fact that he’d been taken there against his will.

_Apparently,_ it was to give them a second chance at having a good life with a Rick. Morty, at the time, had been completely disgusted by the idea. He wanted nothing to do with any type of Rick, and thought the whole thing was stupid. But it’s not like he could go home. He had nothing left there.

The Ricks in the “fucked up” section were apparently prone to raping, torturing, killing, or abusing their Mortys. Rick had thankfully never raped him, and had obviously not killed him (except for that one time that he’d accidentally killed him during an experiment and then managed to bring him back to life in time) but he’d definitely tortured and abused him.

He’d even done some horrifying experiments on him, some of which included Rick deforming Morty’s body and performing surgeries that would fuck him up until Rick decided to fix it. His sick, twisted smile as he watched Morty suffer was forever imprinted in Morty’s mind.

Rick had always said that it was all for an experiment, but Morty knew it wasn’t really an “experiment.” He would always laugh at how Morty struggled, and how he cried out for help. He never dared to call the old man out on his bullshit, though, too afraid to ever stand up to him. He still had problems to this day when it came to standing up to his new Rick, but he liked to think he was getting better with it.

He’s been with his new Rick for almost two whole years now, and that seemed to be enough time for Morty to somewhat heal some of his mental scars (the physical ones could never be fixed, unfortunately).

He wasn’t afraid of his current Rick like he had been at the start. In fact, he and Rick were like best friends. He loved Rick, and he knew the old man loved him back, even though it was impossible to get him to admit it most of the time.

Rick had... given him a new reason to live. He was the grandpa that he’d never really had the chance to have. He’d been so lost after everything, so defeated and tired, but Rick helped him. He made life worth living again. He showed him that he could live a happy life, even without certain things that he’d once believed he’d be devoid of purpose without.

He just... still had a lot of trouble opening up to him. Rick was completely clueless when it came to Morty’s past.

All he knew was that Morty’s original Rick had been pretty abusive and horrible to him. Of course, he didn’t know the lengths of which his original Rick had gone through make his life absolutely miserable without even an ounce of relief, but he knew enough to know to keep his distance at times.

He knew which days Morty needed space from him (which he’d so infamously named ‘Morty’s Off-Days’), and which days he was fine and ready for the next Rick and Morty adventure. Rick respected that dynamic between them, even though Morty’s ‘Off-Days’ weren’t exactly his fault.

That didn’t stop Rick from prying every so often, though. He was definitely curious, but Morty wouldn’t tell him much. Rick even tired opening up himself to get Morty to talk. He explained that he’d never met his original Morty. He’d died when he was three days old due to some heart complications.

To make things easier on everyone, Rick had implanted memories from other Beths Jerrys and Summers in other dimension about their Mortys so that they thought Morty had always been there, even though he hadn’t. Rick was the only one who knew he didn’t really belong in this dimension, but he sure as hell treated him like he did belong and had even told Morty that he did when he’d doubted himself at times.

Regardless of everything, he’s been happy living in this family, even if it did sometimes hurt because they reminded him so painfully much of his real family. Of course, these people had _become_ his family, and rightfully so in their own ways, but they could never fully replace the family he’d known before them.

He saw Beth walk in carrying a plate of pancakes and bacon, and she set it down in the center of the table. Morty breathed in deeply, the delectable smell filling his nose tantalizingly. “Hmm, it smells delicious, mom!” He said, forking two pancakes into his plate and drizzling it in an excessive amount of syrup. He grabbed a few pieces of bacon, too.

He’d always called Beth mom and Jerry dad, even if mentally he called them by their real names. He couldn’t help it but do that in his head, because it would hurt too much to think of them as his actual parents when his real parents were dead.

Rick shut the TV off and joined everyone at the table as they all served themselves. Rick snickered to himself. “Your p-plate is 90% syrup and 10% pancake, Morty.” He chuckled.

“Gross.” Summer said, grimacing as she stared at Morty’s plate.

“Aw, c-c’mon, it’s the good kind.” Morty smiled, setting the syrup bottle to the side. He loved his family. They weren’t his original family, but... they were still family. He guessed he kind of viewed them as if they were his adoptive family. Not really related, but still family where it counted. Family wasn’t always limited strictly to blood (or in this case, dimension). “Mom doesn’t always get this brand.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s more expensive, Morty.” Jerry said, his mouth half-full with pancakes.

“Says the one without a job.” Beth muttered to herself. Jerry being constantly jobless was a sore subject for everyone in the house.

“Yeah dad, get a job.” Summer jumped in, shoving a bite of pancakes (that had a considerably less amount of syrup on them) into her mouth.

Jerry huffed in annoyance. “I’m still looking for the proper one...”

“By looking...” Rick said, frowning at Jerry with an annoyed expression. “D-Do you mean actually looking, or do you mean you go golfing and call it an interview? S-stop pussyfooting around and get a f-f-fucking job already. Even your kids are getting sick of your unemployed ass.” He rolled his eyes.

“I can confirm that.” Summer snickered.

Yep. Morty loved them. Even if they were all a mess.

Jerry growled angrily, slapping his hand down on the table, silverware clattering from the force of it.

Beth sighed. “Oh boy, here we go again...” She said, sounding disinterested. She propped her elbow up on the table and rested her head in her hand as she watched the impending argument unfold before her.

“ _You_ get a job!” Jerry countered, his voice raised as he pointed at Rick. “You just live here for free doing nothing all day!”

“ _Nothing?”_ Rick gave him an incredulous look. He put his fork down gently on the table. “W-who-who the fuck do you think built the _amazing_ security system for the house? Who do you think pays for the Interdimentional Cable? Who do you think made all of the advanced appliances in the house?” He paused for a moment, watching victoriously as Jerry shrunk down. “ _Me,_ bitch, that’s who. You’re the most useless one here.”

Jerry grumbled to himself for a moment. “I wouldn’t go that far...” He said quietly.

“What-what was that?” Rick cupped a hand around his ear, leaning towards Jerry mockingly. “That was so w-wimpy I couldn’t hear it. Say that again?”

“I said I wouldn’t go that far, you deaf old man!” Jerry said said again, louder this time. “I’m not the most useless one!”

“Oh, then who is?” Rick rose a brow, crossing his arms over his chest challengingly as he leaned back in his chair. He was practically _daring_ Jerry to say it was someone else, and he was so obviously ready to snap at him for saying so.

Jerry didn’t say anything, but his eyes darted in Morty’s direction for a split second. Morty couldn’t tell if he’d accidentally looked at him, or if he’d actually been trying to hint that he thought Morty was the most useless. He shrunk down slightly in his seat. Yep. He _still_ loved them. Even Jerry. He sighed.

Rick bursted into laughter, clutching his stomach. “You think Morty’s the most useless?” He said through his laughter, grabbing ahold of Morty’s shoulder and shaking him slightly like he was trying to get him to laugh, too.

Morty chuckled uncertainly, more amused by Rick’s reaction than the insult he’d received from Jerry.

“Ain’t that hilarious, Morty?” Rick laughed almost hysterically. “He thinks you’re useless when you’re probably one of the more useful people in the room! _Ha!_ Jerry’s fuckin’ stupid.”

Morty couldn’t tell if Rick was trying to make him feel better or if he was being serious. Sure, it hurt a little that Jerry thought so low of him, but his real father hadn’t thought that about him, so he didn’t care all that much.

His real father had been proud of him, and had had a good, well-paying job. He had definitely been way less pathetic than this Jerry. He still (unfortunately) loved this Jerry anyway.

Jerry’s face was bright red from the embarrassment. “Well, I don’t think I’m useless.” He picked his fork back up, poking at his pancakes glumly.

“Dad, the fact that you, like, think Morty is useless just makes you even more useless.” Summer said, not looking up from her phone. “It proves how unobservant you are. Like, Morty always takes care of Rick’s neutrino bombs when he’s super drunk so we all don’t die, and he helps Rick with a lot of his science-y stuff. He’s like his partner in crime/assistant. Definitely not useless at all. He contributes a _lot_ to help the family.”

Morty chuckled at the word ‘assistant.’ He’d never thought of it that way, but it was kind of true. His heart felt warmed by Summer’s words. It was nice to know she didn’t see him as useless, even when Morty sometimes really did think he was.

“Then you’re the most useless one!” Jerry growled.

“Wow, great parenting skills right there, J-Jerry.” Rick rolled his eyes. “What kind of father calls their own kids _useless,_ you jackass?”

Morty almost laughed at how hypocritical that was— Rick was pretty prone to calling him and Summer useless, and other things like that. He guessed Jerry doing it made the situation different, in a way, though. Rick was just an asshole in general, so it was best not to take his words to heart half the time. But Jerry was just pathetic.

“Well...” Jerry looked uncomfortable, and he cleared his throat, tugging at the collar of his shirt. “I-I just... well...”

Summer was glaring at him, and she placed her phone down on the table. That’s when you knew she meant fucking business. “I do all the fuckin’ chores around here, and Rick pays me to get him and Morty out of shit situations when they need help. When have you ever done anything to help any of us, dad? And don’t you even _dare_ try to say anything about mom. She’s the only one bringing money home, _plus,_ she unfailingly cooks us breakfast and dinner _every day._ She makes sure we get our food, even when the fucking apocalypse is happening outside. And I mean that _literally_ because it’s happened before. Rick and Morty’s adventure’s can get a little crazy sometimes. Mom is fucking awesome.”

“That’s fuckin’ right, sweetie.” Beth said, raising a glass of orange juice in her daughters direction. She was getting better when it came to drinking wine before noon.

Summer rose her own glass of orange juice and did the same, their glasses clinking together before they both took a sip of their drinks.

Jerry shrunk down in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why do you guys always gang up on me...” He grumbled.

“Get a job, Jerry, and maybe we wouldn’t.” Beth rolled her eyes.

“But—“

“Get a job, Jerry!” Both Summer and Rick yelled at the same time.

Morty sighed, rolling his eyes at this family’s pretty much daily shenanigans.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

As soon as Morty took the very last bite of his pancakes, Rick had dragged him off into another dimension on an adventure. They were stealing a crystal from some kings crown so they could sell it and get about ten million flurbos.

Thing is, they got caught and thrown in a dungeon. It was a large dungeon, with traps and puzzles that were designed to kill them. It was basically their trial— if they managed to get through all of the rooms, they would literally be free to go with no charges held against them. If they died, well... then they died. It was a pretty shitty way to have a trial.

Morty couldn’t help but enjoy himself somewhat, because the whole thing reminded him of one of his fantasy video games. Even if he could actually die during this whole thing, he knew he was safe, because Rick was super smart and had pretty much aced every puzzle so far.

Morty had even solved a few himself, and Rick had praised him over it. The teen was proud of himself, but he didn’t let his ego inflate too much. Getting cocky was dangerous sometimes, and if he was too confident he’d probably screw something up. He had to be sure every time he solved a puzzle.

And then came a puzzle involving fire. Morty was admittedly nervous. You had to step on certain panels as you walked across the floor, or else you’d get shot with a fireball. Rick had discovered quickly that you had to step on all of the panels that depicted an animal that was a herbivore. If you stepped on one with a carnivore, or even an omnivore, you’d get a fireball thrown into your face. It was kind of a classic that he’d seen in movies before, except it usually had to do with sleeping and/or poisonous darts, rather than magical fireballs that formed from thin air.

Rick hopped across quickly without issues, having studied each of these animals at some point in his life. He was well versed when it came to the universe and all of its inhabitants and creatures.

Morty, on the other hand, didn’t know as much as Rick, and was slowly making his way across the paneled floor. He was about halfway across and Rick was guiding him. He would have easily been able to do this if it had been Earth animals, but not a single one was from Earth.

“Uh, step on t-the one with— with the wings, Morty, that one only eats Herlope plants. Fuckin’ weirdos with only one thing in their diet...” Rick instructed, though he was getting kind of distracted.

Morty frowned at him, struggling to balance on the small panel he was currently on. “Rick! All four of the panels in front of me have wings!”

Rick pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I’d known you were so shit at identifying animals, I would have given you a lesson on them ages ago.”

“Rick!” Morty snapped, angry at how he was getting off topic. “We d-don’t have time for this! I can’t balance like this for very long!” All or the panels were only large enough for one foot at a time, and Morty was complete shit when it came to balance. His body hadn’t been built to support him like this, and it completely threw him off when it came to stuff like walking on balancing beams and riding bikes. His body had been built to support a heavier weight on his back, and even after over two years of adjusting, his balance still wasn’t any good.

His arms flew out in a panic as he almost lost his balance for the hundredth time today. His heart was pounding rapidly in his chest. The only way he’d managed to stay standing thus far was through pure determination and fear.

“Alright, alright.” Rick sighed. “Do any of them have claws?” He asked.

Morty scanned all of the pictures depicting alien animals he’d never seen before. “Uh, yes? All e-except for one.”

“Step on the one _without_ claws.” Rick instructed, putting emphasis on the word ‘without.’

Morty quickly hopped onto that one, nearly losing his footing once again. “Oh, fuck, oh fuck, we gotta hurry, Rick.”

“Alright, what do the animals in front of you look like, Morty?” Rick asked, placing his hands on his hips in frustration.

“Um.” Sweat was trailing down Morty’s face, and he swallowed nervously. His throat was so dry. “T-there’s a snake-looking thingy, and uh... and a fish?”

Rick opened his mouth to say something when suddenly there was an intense gust of air that blew through the entire room, and Morty yelped, nearly falling over. His arms were swaying around him, struggling to keep his balance.

An alien intercom suddenly sounded through the room, fizzling in and out for a few moments before becoming clear enough to understand. “You are taking far too long to complete this puzzle. To raise the stakes, gusts of wind will blow through the room every five seconds, and they will increase in intensity at random times.” The intercom shut off with a staticky click.

“Oh geez, I-I-I can’t do this, Rick, I’m gonna fail!” Morty began panicking.

“You’ll— you’re gonna be just fine, Morty! Just— just do exactly what I say, and we’ll get through this, okay?” Rick said, seeming a little panicked himself. “Step on the Gushcor—“ He stopped himself for a spare second, remembering that Morty didn’t know the names of any of the animals. “—on the fish-looking one!”

Morty hopped onto the fish-looking one just as a gust of wind blew through the room again, and he shrieked slightly in alarm, small tears forming in his eyes. He wiped them away before any of them could fall. He’s been through worse. He can get through this.

Morty was getting close enough for Rick to be able to see the panels in front of him. “Alright, step on the one with four eyes, Morty, four eyes.” He said, pointing frantically.

Morty nodded and stepped on that one. Another gust of wind blew through the room, five times stronger than the last ones. It was so strong that Rick nearly fell over himself, his blue hair and lab coat flapping wildly against it.

It proved to be too much for Morty, and the two of them stared at each other in horror as the teen lost his footing and landed on his ass. The panels underneath him sunk down, triggering a few fireballs to come flying at him. He rolled out of the way just in time, pressing more panels down as he shot up to his feet. Rick was screaming at him to run, so he did. He bolted faster than he had ever run before in Rick’s direction, panels sinking under his feet and fireballs flying towards him.

The only exit was starting to close, grinding loudly against the stone walls. It had been been triggered by Morty falling on the panels, and it was closing fast, but Rick was waiting for him. Rick was waiting for him, and Morty couldn’t have been more relived that he was. Rick wasn’t going to abandon him. He managed to get across all the way, and Rick instantly grabbed his wrist, pulling him along towards the closing door.

The entire room was filling up with scorching, burning fire. Morty could hardly breathe through the smoke, but he couldn’t tell if it actually had more to do with the running or not.

The two of them ducked and rolled as the made it out underneath the door just in time. However, a stray fireball had slammed into Morty’s back, and he helped in alarm, scrambling to pull his yellow shirt off. He threw it on the ground in front of him as the door thunked loudly behind them, the ground rumbling and shaking from the force of it.

The teen breathed heavily, watching his shirt burn in front of him and Rick. The yellow fabric was turning black, and shrinking slowly into a pile of useless ash. That had been almost too close for comfort, Morty thought. He was lucky it was _only_ his shirt that got burned.

Rick was laying on his back, panting as he stared up at the ceiling. “That was a fuckin’ close one, Morty.” He said breathlessly, almost as if he’d heard Morty’s thoughts.

Morty was sitting on the ground, his legs crossed underneath him. He’d switched to this position after he’d managed to somewhat calm himself down. “Tell m-me about it, Rick, I don’t have a fucking shirt anymore.”

Rick looked up and saw Morty’s yellow shirt being devoured by flames right in front of them. “Fuck, man.” He said. “Did you get burned?”

Morty shook his head. His back was fine, surprisingly. He didn’t feel any pain. He’d managed to get his shirt off in time. The worst he probably had was one degree burns. Maybe almost two degree, but he doubted it. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he didn’t feel any pain, so... he was probably fine.

Rick sat up, groaning. “Let me check, just to be sure.” He said breathlessly.

Morty sighed, turning his back in Rick’s direction. “I-I-I promise I-I’m fine, Rick.” He grumbled. He might as well just let Rick check, even though he knew he was fine. The man would probably bug him until he relented anyway.

Rick sat behind Morty, looking at his back. “Just gotta make sure, Morty, just in—“ He froze, mouth hanging open for a second. There were two long scars along Morty’s shoulder blades. They looked old, but not too old, and the scar tissue looked uneven, as if Morty had struggled while it had happened. It wasn’t surgical, and if it was, Morty had been aware, awake, and struggling.

His back muscles looked surprisingly toned and strong. He placed a hand over one of the scars, feeling along it with curiosity. The action caused Morty to flinch, his breath catching in his throat. “Morty...” He said. “What are these scars on your b-back from?”

Morty quickly scrambled to pull away from him and stand up. He’d completely forgotten about the huge scars on his back. _Holy shit!_ How could he forget something like that?! “N-nothing!” He said, shaking his head vehemently. He was immediately on the defensive. “They’re nothing! It was just— just a silly accident.”

“Morty, that doesn’t look like an accident.” Rick frowned deeply at him, pushing himself to stand with another groan. He stretched, his back popping audibly. “Did... did _he_ do that to you?” They both knew he meant Morty’s original Rick. He had a serious look on his face.

Morty frowned back at him. Rick didn’t have the right to interrogate him like this. It was _his_ history, not Rick’s. He didn’t have to tell him anything if he didn’t want to. He hated it so much whenever Rick brought up his original Rick. It made him think of all the horrible things that he’d done to him, made him think about everything that he’d lost. It also made it so much harder to trust him. He knew his new Rick— the Rick right before him— the one who loved and cared about him— would never be like his original Rick. But it still didn’t change the fact that he had the same face, same voice, same name... he knew they were different, he knew that fact so well, but sometimes he just... couldn’t help but look at him and see the man that ruined his entire life.

It made it hard to distinguish them when Rick brought up those memories. And it made him angry, and scared. The only thing that seemed to help him get back from that mindset was the look in Rick’s eyes. No hatred, no malice... just genuine care and concern. Rick’s eyes were bluer and brighter than his original Rick’s (he didn’t know how— they were the same person, after all... but he assumed it had something to do with how his current Rick didn’t drink as much as his original had). It’s the only thing that could pull him back to reality sometimes.

“I-I don’t want to talk about it, Rick.” He snapped, not wanting the horrible memories to resurface twice in the same day. He’d already had a nightmare, he didn’t want to have to explain what happened to him, too. “Just drop it.”

Rick scoffed, taking a step towards Morty. His shoulders looked stiff. “You’re really not gonna tell me?” He asked, sounding borderline incredulous. “Really?”

“I-I don’t have to tell you anything, Rick.” Morty glared up at him, crossing his arms over his bare chest defensively. Some part of him wanted to tell Rick, but another part of him struggled immensely to open up to him.

A very subtle look of hurt flashed across Rick’s face, and it was clear to Morty that Rick had tried to cover it up when he cleared his throat. He sighed, completely deflating from his previously tense stance. “Okay, fine. You don’t have to tell me. It’s not my business anyway.” Morty could tell he was genuine in his words. He shrugged out of his lab coat and tossed it to Morty. The teen fumbled to catch it, raising a brow in confusion before quickly realizing Rick was giving it to him so he could wear it in place of his shirt.

Without saying a word, the two of them walked into the next puzzle room. Rick went back to normal almost immediately after that. He was good at acting like everything was fine, and he was good at letting things go, too. That’s part of what made Morty respect the man so much. He knew boundaries, and he understood when to let things go.

However, he felt guilty for making Rick let this go. It hung over his shoulders like a dark, foreboding shadow throughout the rest of the dungeon. Rick had fully returned to his former self, and Morty couldn’t help but he thankful for it, but... he still felt bad for not opening up. He wanted to, and he /has/ been wanting to, but he didn’t have the courage. He was scared to tell him, and he didn’t fully understand why.

The feeling lingered throughout the rest of the day. He ate his ice cream after escaping the dungeon without tasting it, and the same entailed for the dinner Beth lovingly cooked for the family that night. He completely spaced out during the dinner conversation, and he watched a whole movie with the family without processing any of it. He couldn’t even remember what the title was or what it was even about. He couldn’t even remember what the main character looked like.

When everyone went to bed, Morty laid awake and stared blankly at the ceiling. He’d been thinking about it all day. He had to tell Rick. He _wanted_ to open up to him. Rick... was worthy of hearing his story. He was worthy of hearing about his pain.

Out of anyone he knew, he trusted Rick more than he trusted anyone, which was saying something, because Morty found it nearly impossible to trust anyone. He couldn’t even trust Beth or Summer as much as he trusted Rick. He found it quite ironic that an alternative version of the Rick he had now had ruined his life.

But he knew he had to tell him. Two years, and Rick hadn’t once shown him any reason not to trust him. Well, except for when he was doing a prank, but the pranks were harmless. He had to tell him what his old Rick did to him... he deserved— no, was _worthy_ ofan explanation. Rick had helped him in so many more ways than he could even imagine. He healed some of the mental scars Rick hadn’t even been aware Morty was _had._

He wanted so desperately to tell Rick. And so that’s what he was going to do.

It was around three in the morning when he finally decided to get out of his bed. He took his blanket cover with him, holding it tightly around himself as he made his way to the garage.

When he opened the door, however, the lights were off and it was empty. He was confused for a moment. Rick was usually always up at this time, tinkering with his inventions late into the night. He said it was because he felt the most inspired and motivated when he was sleep deprived, which was odd but relatable to Morty.

There were countless nights where the teens thoughts and ideas screamed loudly inside his mind, keeping him from sleep. Rick took advantage of that, while Morty tried to ignore it in favor of attempting to keep an ordinary sleeping schedule (sometimes it was fruitless to try because Rick pretty regularly pulled him from sleep some time in the middle of the night for an adventure).

He sighed, and closed the garage door. He made his way back up the stairs and towards Rick’s room. It was the only other place he could be, unless he’d decided to go on an adventure without him. He often did solo missions when he thought Morty was having one of his ‘off-days,’ and Morty wouldn’t blame him if he’d thought that after what had happened when Rick saw the scars on Morty’s back.

There was a faint flickering light underneath Rick’s door, and a quiet murmur of conversation, letting Morty know that Rick was, in fact, home. He doubted the scientist was asleep, though. He hesitantly knocked on the door.

“Come in.” Ricks voice was muffled through the door. “Unless you’re Jerry. If you’re Jerry, fuck off.”

Morty slowly opened the door, and it creaked quietly in the near-silence. “It’s me, Morty.” He said.

“Oh,” Rick said, sounding surprised. Morty couldn’t really see his expression all that well with only the TV to light up his face. “Um, come on in, Morty.” Morty had never really been in Rick’s room before.

 

The brunette timidly made his way inside and closed the door softly behind him. He turned around and faced Rick. The mini TV Rick was watching caused a light murmur, keeping the air around them from growing tense and awkward. Morty felt like his stomach was doing backflips. He was really fucking doing this.

“What’s u-up, kid? Need a-anything?” Rick asked, looking at Morty curiously. He was laid back on his cot, one arm folded behind his head on his pillow. He was wearing only his boxers and a white undershirt.

Morty pulled his cover tighter around himself, feeling a shiver run through him in the cold room. “I-I, uh... I’ve been thinking.” He said.

Rick chuckled, smirking. “That’s new.”

“Rick, stop it, I’m trying to be serious.” He growled at the old man, glaring. As he stepped forward, his face was illuminated in a soft blue glow from the TV.

Rick’s smug smirk quickly faded, and he waited patiently for Morty to continue. He sat up on the cot.

Morty’s shoulders slumped. “I-I want to...” He hesitated, cringing internally at himself. “Geez, t-t-this is so hard to talk about...”

“If y-you’re not just gonna go right out and say it, Morty, just sit and watch TV with me for a while until you get your words together.” Rick rolled his eyes, feigning annoyance. He scooted closer to the wall to make room for Morty.

The teen sighed, his anxiety calming down almost immediately. He sunk down onto Rick’s cot next to him, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his cover around them. The TV buzzed with a low chatter, but neither of them were really paying attention.

Rick leaned back against the wall, and wrapped an arm around Morty’s shoulders, pulling the teen against his chest. Morty gratefully leaned into him, feeling calmer because of how comforting and patient Rick was being.

It took Morty a few minutes to gain the courage to speak up. “I-I want to tell you about the scars on my back...” He blurted randomly, barely loud enough for Rick to hear him.

“You d-don’t have to if you don’t want to, Morty.” Rick sighed, running his hand up and down Morty’s arm in a reassuring sort of way. “I-I-If I made you feel guilty back there, then I’m sorry. I-It wasn’t my intention.”

Morty pulled away from Rick, turning to look at him. “Rick...” He said. “Y-y-y-you didn’t make me feel... guilty.” He assured, and it was true. “You just... deserve to know...”

“No, I don’t.” Rick said, shaking his head. “There’s no r-reason why you should ever feel like you have to tell me. I’m curious as a fuckin’ _cat_ , Morty, that shit is like imbedded in my fuckin’ code, but I really d-don’t want you to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” Morty said again. “I-I-I... I really want to. It’s just been so hard to open up to you, Rick, and I-I just... I want to so badly, so I gotta try.”

Rick looked at him for a moment, a serious look in his eyes. “Okay.” He said. “Then w-what are your scars from, Morty?”

The teen pulled his cover off of himself and set it to the side. He then slowly pulled his shirt over his head. He turned away from Rick so he could see his back. The old man was instantly intrigued, looking at the poorly healed scars along the kid’s shoulder blades. “Can I...?” He asked, sitting up straighter so he could properly look at them. His hand hovered over Morty’s back, hesitant.

“Y-yeah, go ahead.” Morty said shakily, his nerves acting up once more.

At the feel of Rick’s hand against the scars, he shivered uncomfortably, tensing up. Rick ran his calloused thumb along them, feeling the roughness of the scars. It looked like something had been amputated off of him.

 

“R-Rick, y-y-you’re... familiar with... what angels are, right?” He asked, voice shaking. It was so hard to let Rick feel along his scars like this. The last time someone had gotten this close to his back, he’d gotten irreparably hurt.

 

Rick’s hands stilled on his back. “Yeah?”

Morty let out a shaky breath. “Well, from— in my dimension... everyone has wings.” He spoke over his shoulder. “W-we aren’t called angels back home, I-I-I only learned that term when I-I moved here, but t-that’s basically what we are. W-we all have big, white, feathery wings. Like an angels... e-except for the fact that we’re just... humans, I guess? But with wings?”

“You... had wings?” Rick sounded astounded, continuing to run his hands along the scars in fascination. That could explain how well toned and strong the muscles on his back looked. “Could you fly with them?”

Morty nodded, tears building up in his eyes. “Y-yes...” He said shakily, trying so desperately to stop himself from crying.

Rick grabbed Morty’s shoulders and made him turn around. The teen wouldn’t meet his eyes, and instead looked at the wall, shaking. “W-What happened to them...?” He asked quietly, trying to urge Morty on. His heart was beating hard inside his chest, almost as much as Morty’s was.

The tears started flowing down Morty’s face in heavy streams, and he quickly became a blubbering mess. “H-he clipped them. He-he just woke up o-one day a-and decided to saw them off.” He sobbed. “I-I-I wanted to die that day. I-I wanted him to kill me instead of taking my wings. I-I sometimes still wish he’d killed me instead. H-he ruined me. I-I-I loved my wings so m-much, I loved them, t-they were so beautiful... t-they were bigger than everyone else’s, and—and I loved flying so much, I loved it so much, Rick, but he took them away, he hurt me so much.”

Rick pulled Morty into his chest again, wrapping his arms around him in a strong hug. “I-I’m sorry, Morty, I’m sorry he did that. I can’t imagine how or-or why he’d e-even do something like that.”

He had been reduced to nothing but a _fallen angel_ that day when Rick had clipped his wings and grounded him to the Earth as if we were some sort of vile _God._  That day, Morty’s entire life had been _ruined._ But this Rick— the one before him how— he had breathed life back into him. He missed his wings so much, and the pain from losing them could never leave him, but Rick made him see the light even when everything seemed too dark without his wings. That’s why he felt Rick was worthy— like he deserved to know what happened to him.

Morty clutched at Rick’s white tank top like his life depended on it, and he almost felt as if it did. “He said—“ He coughed, crying into Rick harder. “H-he said he was— he said it was so I-I-I could never leave him. He said— he said he owned me, until the day I died.”

“Well, he was wrong, Morty.” Rick said, running his hand through Morty’s hair comfortingly. “Y-you got out, with or with out the wings, you made it out. You h-have no idea how much you m-make me proud. I’m so glad you’re here with me.”

“I-I miss flying, Rick.” Morty sniffled into him. Rick’s words were touching, but it couldn’t fill the black hole inside his chest. “I-I miss it so much, and I miss my Summer, and my mom, and my dad...”

“What happened to them?” Rick asked quietly.

“S-Summer... tried to kill him...” The teen whimpered. “She... she was so angry when she found out what he’d done to me. She loved grandpa Rick, b-but w-when she saw what he did to me, she had t-this look in her eyes, like—like she... she was heartbroken. R-Rick was too s-strong, th-though, and he _killed_ her b-before she could kill him, and s-she bled out in m-my arms, and there was so much blood, and—and then he killed mom and dad, too, j-just to teach me a lesson. He made m-me feel so powerless. H-he made me feel worthless.”

Rick wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer to the question he was about to ask. “W-What— how did your Rick—“

“I killed him,” Morty cried. “I-I-I didn’t want to, but I h-had to, Rick, I couldn’t—“ He broke off into a blubbering, sobbing mess, burying his face into Rick’s chest. He remembered finding the knife that Rick had used to saw his wings off, and he remembered how Rick stared at him with furious, blood-thirsty eyes when he’d stabbed him in the chest, and he remembered how much blood he’d been covered in. He couldn’t even remember who’s blood it had been at that point. Probably a mixture of everyone in his family, and he had been completely covered in it from head to toe— and he’d sobbed like he’d never sobbed before— sobbed for his Mother and Father, and for Summer. He’d even cried for his grandpa, he was ashamed to admit. “I-I-I’m sorry, I’m sorry...”

“Morty.” Rick murmured to the teen. “D-don’t say sorry. Y-y-you did what you had to. It’s o-okay. You’re okay.” He continued to thread his fingers through the boy’s soft brown hair.

Morty shook his head, whimpering quietly as he tried to stop his tears. “Kill—killing him m-made me jus-just as bad as he was.” He said brokenly. “I-I didn’t have to k-kill him...”

“Morty...” Rick said with a small sigh. He didn’t seem annoyed, at least. He slowly pushed Morty away from him, and the teen looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. Rick wiped away some of the tears using his thumbs, holding Morty’s face gently in his hands. “He w-was a Rick. I-I’m sure there wasn’t another option... no prison could keep him, and the citadel wouldn’t have done anything either. You— you did what you had to. He j-just would have kept hurting you more if you hadn’t done that, kid. Sure, killing is bad, but... sometimes the world would be better off without certain people. Y-y-you did the universe a favor that day, alright? Imagine how many more people he would have hurt if he was still alive today.”

Morty looked down, really thinking about what Rick had said. Maybe he was right. Maybe he’d done everyone a favor by doing what he had.

Rick suddenly gasped, a lightbulb going off in his head as bright as the fucking sun. Why hadn’t he thought about this five goddamn minutes ago?! He shook Morty slightly. “I have an idea!” He announced.

Morty grabbed ahold of Rick’s wrists, startled by his sudden burst of energy. “R-Rick?” He stammered, a few stray tears still falling from his eyes even though his focus was being pulled away from the subject.

Rick suddenly shrunk down, a worried look on his face, like there was some kind of dilemma in his plan. “You w-wouldn’t happen to have a part of your wings, would you? Like a feather, or something?”

Morty was completely lost, not understanding what Rick was freaking out about. “Um...” He said quietly, rubbing his eyes. “I-I have a feather...” He’d taken it from one of his wings while his original Rick hadn’t been looking, desperate to keep a part of them forever close to him. It had been so painful, both physically and emotionally, to be forced to part with something so precious to him. He’d loved his wings, and he’d loved flying so much. It was a passion of his that left him awed every time he did it.

“Morty, I need you to g-give me that feather.” Rick said, grabbing the teens shoulders in a vice grip. “T-this is— it’s vitally important, kid, you won’t regret it. I p-promise.”

“W-What?” Morty shoved Rick in the chest to separate them. He glared at the old man, a hurt look in his eyes. “ _N-no way_ , Rick! I-I-I only have one! T-t-there’s no way I-I’m gonna let you destroy it for some— some stupid experiment!”

“Morty, there’s no time to explain!” Rick said, standing from his cot and dragging Morty out the door along with him by the wrist. The boy only barely managed to grab his blanket cover on the way out.

Morty protested against him slightly, but relented after a moment. Rick stopped them in front of Morty’s door and kneeled down so he could be leveled with the teen. He placed his hands on Morty’s shoulders. “Listen, I-I-I need you to trust me. I-I know you find that hard to do sometimes, but this one time, I _need_ you to trust that if you give me your feather, you—you won’t regret it. Y-y-you’ll forget all about the feather once I’m done with it.” He had that look in his eyes he got when he was hit by a sudden bout of inspiration. Morty had seen that look in his eyes plenty of times before, and half the time it didn’t end well.

He stared at Rick with his brows furrowed. He felt uncertain about this whole thing. Rick was acting all weird. He’d just told the man about his past, and the reaction he got was a vague amount of comfort, and then a bunch of nonsense about needing a leftover part of his severed wings? What the fuck?

But... he wanted Morty to trust him. And for whatever reason, Morty felt like he _could_ trust that this wasn’t some stupid practical joke. The situation was too personal— it intimate— for Rick to make a cruel joke out of it. He nodded slowly. “Okay...” He said quietly.

He pulled away from Rick and went to his room. He crouched down on the floor and pulled an old shoe out from underneath it. He walked back out of his room. He looked down at the box longingly, a dreadful feeling filling up his heart when he realized he was probably about to part from it forever. Looking away, he shoved the box into Rick’s chest, and the old man took it. “B-be careful with it...” He said. “I-it’s all I have left from m-my home dimension and my wings...”

Rick ruffled Morty’s hair affectionately, smiling down at the brunette warmly. “I’m g-glad you decided to t-tell me...” He said.

Morty smiled sadly back up at Rick, even though he was still feeling kind of confused about how he felt about telling him. He was glad, because it felt like he’d just got a ton of bricks lifted off of his shoulders. But he also felt weary because Rick was his taking his one and only feather. He wasn’t sure yet if he was making a mistake.

“Now, I-I want you to get some sleep, kiddo.” Rick said, sounding almost exactly like Beth. He pushed Morty further into his room almost eagerly. “I’ll show you why I need t-the feather sometime tomorrow, alright? Don’t go into the garage. I-I’ll come and find you myself when I’m done.”

“W-when you’re done with what, Rick?” Morty asked, still completely lost and confused. “Y-y-you’re not exactly being very clear o-o-on what you’re going to do.”

“I told you already, Morty, there’s no time to explain.” Rick rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Just... be patient. I-I’ll show you when I’m done. Promise.”

Morty stared at Rick for a moment more before sighing and once again relenting to the old man’s will. “Fine.” He said. “G’night, Rick.”

Rick was already walking away, staring at the box in his hands. “Night, kid.”

Morty watched him go until he disappeared down the staircase and he was out of sight before heading back into his room and crawling into his bed, emotionally exhausted from everything that had happened today. He wondered, in the very last thoughts before drifting off into a thankfully dreamless sleep, what Rick would be doing with his feather.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Rick entered the garage and sat down at his workbench, and quickly opened up the shoe box. Inside, there was a single, pure white feather that was probably about as long as the distance it took to stretch from his elbow to his wrist. With narrowed, studying eyes, he plucked the feather from the box and ran his fingers along it. It was as soft as silk. He almost couldn’t feel it due to how soft it was.

 

He chuckled to himself. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Morty’s face once he finished this project. This was gonna be the best project he’s ever worked on. He could feel it, deep inside his bones.

 

He couldn’t think of anything better he could ever do for the boy. Nothing could ever top this. He wanted to see Morty genuinely smile, because the boy hardly ever did. He wanted to make him happy, because he hardly ever was. And he knew exactly how to do it now that he knew what had happened to him in the past.

Rick got to work, determined to give Morty the best gift he could ever possibly give to him.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

Morty hadn’t seen Rick all day.

 

He woke up, ate breakfast, went to school. It was boring as all hell, but at the same time, his heart wouldn’t stop racing with anxiety. Something about the suspense made it nearly impossible not to feel anxious, even in moments when he was entirely focused on something else.

He kept looking over his shoulder, thinking Rick would suddenly appear like he usually does when he grabs him from school for an adventure. He kept hearing phantom portals that had never been opened, and seeing flashes of green light that had never been there. He had recognized soon after he’d been placed in this dimension that he’d sort of developed paranoia. A direct consequence of all the things his original Rick had done to him, no doubt.

When he got home he sat in the living room to watch some TV.

He stared at the garage door... wondering what Rick was doing on the other side... making himself feel even more anxious and paranoid than before... and making him wonder if he’d ever get his feather back...

The family had dinner; Rick was absent.

Morty asked if anyone had seen Rick today. Summer said she’d asked him to help her with her homework and he’d told her to fuck off. Beth said she’d brought him lunch earlier in the day, and when she came to get the dishes later, she found the food untouched, and Rick down in the underground bunker. He’d apparently rushed her out of the garage altogether, saying that he couldn’t have any distractions at the moment.

Morty began to worry as he took a shower and changed into his pajamas. 8:00pm, his digital alarm clock said in bright, red numbers. He sat at his desk and pulled out some homework, but it was mostly because he felt too anxious to try and sleep.

 

8:30pm.

 

9:00pm.

 

He finished his homework and opened his laptop. He watched YouTube.

 

9:30pm.

 

10:00pm.

 

He closed out of YouTube and started playing video games instead, if only to pass the time. He continued to nervously check his alarm clock ever so often.

 

10:30pm.

 

11:00pm.

 

Morty closed his laptop with a sigh. Rick wasn’t coming to get him anytime soon. He crawled into bed and turned off his lamp.

 

.

.

.

Just as he closed his eyes, his door swung wide open, banging against the wall loudly. Morty jumped, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. He was so startled that he literally fell out of his bed and crashed to the ground with a yelp.

 

“Morty!” Rick said, sounding like the crazed scientist Morty knew he was. “It’s done! I-I-I’ve perfected it! No time to waste, get up! _Get up!”_ He ran over to Morty and yanked the boy to his feet. This was exactly why he’d been paranoid all day long. When Rick was excited about something, he acted all crazy like this, and this was pretty much exactly how he expected Rick to act when he finally came to get him. It had always just been a matter of _when_ he was going to come.

The scientist began dragging him out of his room. “Ow-ow—“ Morty had slightly twisted his ankle upon falling to the ground, and he limped slightly as Rick dragged him down the stairs. “R-Rick! Slow down, g-geez, you’re yanking me all over the place.”

Morty’s words didn’t deter Rick in the slightest, and he continued to drag him all the way to the garage. “You’re gonna love it, Morty, t-this—this is by _far_ one of the best things I’ve ever done. You’re gonna love it.”

For some reason that made Morty feel even more nervous. He didn’t know what Rick was talking about. What could he have possibly done that involved the single feather that he’d given to Rick? What could be so amazing that it was worth losing the most sentimental item that Morty owned?

Rick suddenly stopped in the middle of the garage, and Morty accidentally crashed into him. He spun around, grabbing Morty by the shoulders and shaking him slightly. “Morty.” He said. “Morty, Morty, Morty.”

 

“What, Rick? What?” Morty asked, staring at him with wide, confused eyes. He knew Rick wasn’t going to hurt him, but that didn’t stop him from being a little afraid of what was going to happen.

 

“I-I-I’ve gotta inject you with a serum, okay?” He said, looking at Morty with a focused look. It was good to know that he was at least somewhat sane right now. “And you gotta trust me. I-It might be a little painful, but I-I promise you won’t regret it.”

Now Morty was even more on edge. “R-Rick, that’s not e-e-exactly helping the situation. I-I have literally no idea what whatever you’re talking about is gonna do to me.”

“Morty, you gotta trust me.” Rick said, shaking him again.

“Okay, _o-okay,_ Rick, stop shaking me.” Morty grabbed Rick’s arms and pulled them off of his shoulders. Rick was still looking at him expectantly. Morty sighed. “I-If I let you do this, will you stop being all crazy?”

Rick’s face practically lit up like a firework. “It’s a deal!” He said, and then he turned to his workbench. He grabbed a needle filled with some kind of purple liquid and a disinfectant wipe. He grabbed Morty’s wrist and throughly wiped his forearm down with the wipe. He then held the needle close to it, and Morty watched nervously, sweat trailing down the side of his face. Light glinted off of the tip of the needle.

“Morty, it’s going to be a little painful, okay?” He said, looking at Morty’s face. Morty looked up to him and nodded.

“You ready for this?” He asked.

Morty glared at him half-heartedly. “I-I-I don’t even know what, exactly, I’m preparing for, but yes.” He said. “Just do it already.” At this point, it was best to just get it over with.

Rick chuckled at him. “You won’t regret this, Morty. I promise.” He stuck the needle into Morty’s arm, and he flinched. “It’s okay, Morty, everything’s fine.” He said as he pressed the plunger, injecting the purple liquid into his bloodstream.

Rick then released Morty’s arm and set the needle back on the workbench behind him.

“Now w-what?” Morty asked shakily, his eyes darting around nervously. He looked at the spot that Rick had injected him— it was already starting to heal over, not even a drop of blood leaking out. Rick must have put some kind of healing serum in with whatever it was that he injected him with.

Rick pulled Morty forward into his chest, holding him close. “Now we wait for a few minutes. I’ll b-be here with you every step of the way.”

“I-I still have no clue what you’re talking about, Rick.” Morty’s voice was muffled by the fabric of Rick’s blue sweater. Admittedly, his nerves were starting to calm down a little now that Rick was holding him like this.

“You’ll see, Morty.” Rick said, running a hand through some of Morty’s brown curls.

Morty suddenly felt a weird pressure on his back, like air was filling up under his skin. “R-R-Rick,” He stammered nervously, looking up at Rick with wide eyes. “Something’s— I don’t— what’s h-happening?” The pressure felt like it was getting worse.

“Just relax, Morty, everything will be fine. Everything’s going according to plan.” He said. “B-better than fine, actually.”

Morty took Rick’s words to heart. If he said everything was gonna be fine, then everything would be fine. He still didn’t understand the pressure he was feeling in his back, though.

Slowly, the pressure grew, and the more it grew, the tighter his hold on Rick got. The pressure got to the point where it was actually starting to hurt slightly, and he whimpered into Rick’s chest. That’s when the old man started to quietly whisper reassurance to him, instantly causing Morty’s nerves to cool off.

Suddenly, it felt like the skin on his back was splitting in half, the pain becoming worse and worse. “R-Rick, it hurts.” Morty whimpered. “It h-hurts so much.”

“I know, Mort, I know. It’s okay, though, you can get through this.” Rick said, rubbing Morty’s shoulders. “Y-y-you’re doing great.”

Once the skin-splitting feeling stopped, another sensation exploded from his back. It felt like something was bursting from within him, and he screamed, more terrified and surprised than he was in pain. He could hear the back of his shirt tearing as something ripped through it.

And then it all stopped. Morty’s eyes were squeezed shut, and he was shaking. “R-Rick...” He whimpered, grasping the labels of his lab coat desperately.

“Morty,” Rick grabbed the teens shoulders and slowly pushed him away. Morty tried to hold on to him, but Rick insistently pushed him away. “Open your eyes, ya doofus.” He said.

Morty slowly cracked one of his eyes open before opening the other one, too. Rick was looking at him with a smirk on his face. The teen was panting heavily, still shaking where he stood. “What— is it over?” He asked, still unsure of what was exactly had happened.

 

Rick nodded, chuckling. “I’m a f-fucking scientist, you know.” He said, and Morty just gave him a confused look. “I-In fact, I’m the best scientist to ever live, kid. That’s why I know how to re-grow limbs.”

Morty’s eyes widened as realization suddenly struck him like a ton of bricks, and he turned his head to look behind himself. And there before him, attached to his back, was a pair of large, feathery white wings. They were covered in splatters of his blood, but they were _there._  “Rick—“ He choked out, throwing a hand over his mouth as tears formed in his eyes rapidly. He stretched them out to their full expanse, the end feathers brushing against the ceiling of the garage. They were just as large and beautiful as he remembered.

Tears started flowing from his eyes in heavy streams, completely soaking his cheeks, and dripping onto the concrete floor. “Oh m-my god, Rick.” He said from behind his hand, throwing himself at the old man as he cried from the overwhelming amount of emotion that filled his heart. He’d never been so happy in his life. “Thank you,” He sobbed into the old man’s chest, holding onto him tightly. “Thank you, t-thank you, thank you, I never— I thought I’d never— never see them again, Rick, oh my god.” He folded his wings to his back, making them seem as if they were merely the side of a large backpack. He was shaking with joy, and he absolutely could not let go of Rick.

Rick chuckled lightly. “No need to thank me, Morty, g-geez.” He said, hugging Morty back tightly. “I’m j-just returning what someone else stole from you. P-plus, if you can fly, it _could_ be pretty useful on adventures.”

Morty laughed. He had a feeling Rick was just saying that to make himself seem a little less selfless and a little more selfish. But he was right. He’d be more than happy to help Rick on adventures using his _wings._ His wings! Oh, how he had missed them! He knew Rick could never bring back the family he had lost... but at least he could do this! And it was more than Morty could ever ask from him.

“T-thank you so much.” He said again. “I-I-I can’t even— I can’t even express how much I’m thankful, I-I-I’ll never be able to repay you f-for this, I-it would take a billion years.”

“Morty,” Rick pushed the teen back so he could look at him. He wiped away some of his tears with his hands. “T-this is a gift from me to you. You don’t owe me a-anything. This,” He gestured to his wings. “Has _always_ been yours. You were born with them, and they were ripped away from you by some asshole who had the same face as me. I-It’s only fitting that they were returned you by me.”

“Y-you never owed me a-a-anything, Rick.” Morty said, grabbing his hand in his own. “Y-y-you’ve never hurt me i-in a major way, and e-even if you had, you made up f-for it in such a way that I forgot all about it. Y-you’re not the one who took them away.”

“But I’m sure as hell the one who returned them for that asshole.” Rick said, smiling down at Morty. “I-I’m glad that I could help ya, Mort. It’s been kind of hard getting you to smile these past two years.”

Morty giggled and hugged Rick again. How could he ever pry himself away from Rick now? He was so happy— so thankful for what he had given him. “I-I could never thank you enough f-for this, Rick.”

“C’mon, Morty,” Rick said, pushing the brunette back again. He’d had his fill of physical contact to last him a whole year. “I-I know you’d rather be out there flying than hugging an old fart. G-get on out there and have some fun.” He pushed him towards the garage door, which was wide open. “Y-you’ve been stuck to the ground for two years too long, kid, it’s about time you g-get on up there.”

Morty stood just right outside the garage, and he spread his wings out to their full expanse once again. He stretched the familiar muscles out, reminiscing in the feeling of it. Every small movement of his wings sent a bolt of excitement down his spine. He almost couldn’t believe this was real! He turned to look back at Rick. “I-I wish you could fly with me.” He said, truly wishing that he could. He’d always found it easer to connect with those who could fly with him. “S-someone like you would love it.”

“Are you saying that b-because the other me did, or because you think I’d actually like it?” Rick asked, looking at Morty curiously.

Morty chuckled, turning back to look up at the night sky. “My old Rick h-hated flying.” He said to answer his question, before using his wings to send himself soaring into the sky with one very swift flap. He’d always been a very fast flyer. He looked down as the ground grew farther from him, and he saw Rick run out of the garage so he could see him.

Morty smiled, feeling the wind glide against his skin as he ascended upward, using his beautiful wings to propel himself further. The wind quickly dried his face of tears, even as new one replaced them. He kept flying up and up, further into the night sky, the ground growing distant below him, until...

 

He was above the clouds.

 

He flapped his wings gentler, keeping himself in one spot in the air. He gazed around himself with tears still streaming down his face and awe in his eyes. The air was frigid and cold, but Morty couldn’t have cared less about it at the moment.

 

The moon was shimmering brightly in the sky, illuminating the clouds around him in a soft, almost blue hue. The clouds underneath his winds swirled around with every flap, curling around like the paint strokes on Vincent Van Gogh’s famous painting, _Starry Night._

The stars were bright and glowing, and Morty could spot the Big Dipper, the lines connecting the dots burning bright inside his mind.

 

This was a sight he missed.

 

A sight he’d thought he’d never truly be able to see again. He’d seen it from the dome window of Rick’s Spaceship plenty of times before, but it was so different from actually flying. It was completely new. You could feel adrenaline coursing through your veins, and you could feel the air against your skin. You couldn’t feel any of that when you saw this sight from the Spaceship.

He’d only been up there for a few moments, but he could already feel his wings getting tired. It’s been so long since he’s used them, and since they were technically completely new, they were weaker, and less used to the effort it took to fly. He was overjoyed to be able to fly again. It made him feel so free, like he could go anywhere and do anything he wanted. It made him feel invincible.

It made him feel as if he’d finally gotten away from his original Rick, and he shouted out to the sky, cupping his hands around his mouth, “If only you could see me now, grandpa! I’m free! You were nothing, and I am so much stronger! I’m stronger than you ever were! You thought you could hold me forever?! Well, look at me now!” He yelled out into the sky, overjoyed and victorious.

 

He’d gotten away. He was _free,_ no longer shackled to that bastard. He’d tried to take everything from him, but he’d made it out alive, and his family would be proud to see him now, he knew with absolute certainty. They would have been proud to see who he was becoming, proud that he got out of his grandfather’s grasp and proud to see how much stronger he was now. 

 

Even when he’d killed his original Rick, he’d still felt as if he’d had a leash on him for the longest time, and he’d held him back so much.

 

But now Morty finally felt like he could finally move on.

 

With a bright smile on his face, he took one last look at the night sky around him, admiring how the stars and the moon looked when they weren’t hidden behind a layer of clouds and light pollution, and he let himself linger in the feeling of how free it made him feel.

And then he let gravity pull him back down towards the ground. He kept his wings somewhat expanded to help himself glide. He spread his arms out, feeling the wind blow through his fingers. He’d almost forgotten how great this felt.

When he started to get particularly close the the ground, he spread his wings out to full capacity, and he landed on his feet gently, a layer of dirt and dust floating up around him. He saw Rick sitting at his workbench, looking at him. He had some device in his hand that he seemed to have been working on.

“That was fast.” He said. “Thought you’d be out much longer.”

Morty panted, completely out of breath. “I-I-I don’t have a-as much stamina f-for this as I used to, Rick.” He said, folding his wings back up. He used to be able to fly for hours on end without breaking, but he was super out of practice. Chest heaving, and heart pounding in his ears, he walked back over to Rick. “I-I flew above the clouds. I used to be able to do that super easily, but... I guess I’m out of practice.” He chuckled. He didn’t even care that he wasn’t as good as he used to be. He was just happy he could do it at all!

He pulled Rick into another hug. “I-I seriously can’t thank you enough for this, R-Rick.” He said, and then a thought crossed his mind. “Oh, and uh... what are we going to tell everyone? I-I’ve never seen anyone with wings in this dimension. I-It was pretty weird to see t-that when I first moved here, but it helped me blend in...”

Rick shrugged. “Just tell them it was an experiment gone wrong until I figure out how to finish this cloaking device...” He gestured down to the object in his hand. It was a small metal object that was opened up, exposing the chips and wires inside. “I-I’ll have to surgically attach this to a part of your wings so that only the people you want to see them can see t-them...” He explained.

Morty laughed, sniffling. God, he was still crying like a fucking baby. He wiped at his eyes, trying to clear them up. “I-It’s funny how that’s an actually reasonable explanation, especially coming from you.”

“Haha, very funny, Morty.” Rick chuckled, setting the cloaking device down on the workbench. “J-Just be happy I was very thorough when making that serum. I-I had to convert it from regrowing normal human limbs to regrowing wings... on a human. It kind of helped that your body was already adapted to having wings biologically.”

Morty chuckled, the smile on his face refusing to fall even as his cheeks began to hurt. He was just so happy that he had his wings back— so happy that he had met this Rick at all— so happy that he found the family he needed in Rick after everything and everyone he knew fell away from him. “I s-seriously can’t thank you enough for this, Rick.”

“No need to thank me, Morty.” Rick said, smiling. “I’m just happy I could make you smile.”

 

Morty chuckled, extending one of his wings out towards Rick. They were still splattered with his own blood, but most of it seemed to have gone away when he flew up into the sky. He’d just have to wash them off later. “W-wanna touch them?” He asked. “B-back in myoriginal dimension, it—it’s supposed to be a sign of trust.” Morty explained. It was a very intimate gesture, and his people only ever did this when they trusted someone unconditionally. Morty had never willingly let his original Rick touch his wings... and every time Rick had, like the few times he randomly plucked a feather from him just to be mean, or... or when he cut them off entirely... he was always left feeling violated and used.

 

Right now, however, Morty felt a compelling need to let him touch his wings. He trusted Rick, and he wanted him to know that.

Rick looked at the wing extended out towards him with an unsure smile on his face. “Are you sure?” He asked, raising his hand so that it was hovering above his wing.

Morty laughed and lifted his wing to meet Rick’s hand. “I-I wouldn’t have offered if I wasn’t sure.”

 

Rick’s brow lifted in the middle as his hand made contact with Morty’s wing, and he had a look or pure fascination in his eyes. “Wow...” He said, gently running his hand over the soft feathers. They were even softer than the single feather Morty had given him before. “Are they usually this soft?” He asked.

 

Morty shook his head. “T-they’re softer when they’re new... like, on a newborn. I guess, even if they don’t look it, they’re pretty damn new...” He laughed. “They grow a little rougher over the y-years... My o-original Rick’s w-were... they were pretty rough to the touch, for example.”

 

“Well, yours are fucking soft, Morty, I mean, _Christ,_ I’ve never felt anything like it.” Rick was still looking at his wings with fascination, and Morty felt an odd shiver run up his spine at the familiar sensation of his wings being touched by something. It was familiar, but he was unused to it— it had been two years since he was even able to feel how his muscles shifted inside his wings, or the burn when he used them to fly.

He’d always had that slight phantom feeling that people got when their limbs were amputated, but... now it was actually real, and there was a lot more feeling to it.

Rick ran his hand along the top of his wing, tracing out all of the bones and muscles inside of them, a look of awe ever plastered on his face. “They’re beautiful.” He said absentmindedly.

Morty felt heat rise to his face. “You made them.” He said.

Rick laughed, throwing his head back as he slowly retracted his hand, his fingertips dragging along them for a moment. “Y-yeah, but... they were yours to begin with, Morty. I gave you the tools to get them back, but in the end, their beauty is yours.”

Morty wasn’t a fallen angel anymore, and he had Rick to thank for that.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, everyone! I really appreciate it! :D


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